


Sick

by Dedicate Kiwicrocus (cranky__crocus)



Series: SMACKDOWN '11 R2, R3, Final - CIRCLECEST [45]
Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Gen, Goldenlake, smackdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-11
Updated: 2011-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranky__crocus/pseuds/Dedicate%20Kiwicrocus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Where’s my snot rag?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SMACKDOWN at Goldenlake: fiefgoldenlake.proboards.com

Briar was ill. He could feel it. Not devastating, life-threatening ill, just obnoxious ill that made functioning irksome. He sighed. “Where’s my snot rag?”

            “Couldn’t you call it something else?” Tris complained over her book. “Something more charming?”

            “That would make it less truthful,” Briar replied, grinning. “It is a rag filled with snot.”

            “We wouldn’t mind a bit less truth,” Sandry countered. She pushed the rag forward with a stick; Briar snatched it off the table-top. He blew his nose.

            Daja peeked her head down the stairs. “Was that a ship call?”

            Tris gestured. “Briar’s nose.”

            Daja laughed.

            Rosethorn called from her workroom, “You dying of that dreaded lurgy, boy, or are you going to help me sort dried herbs? It may guide my decision on whether to heal or poison you…”

            Briar hurried off, the other three left laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Rosethorn caught Briar’s little illness, he took the greatest delight.

When Rosethorn caught Briar’s little illness, he took the greatest delight. She had teased him relentlessly about his own bout with it (“I swear, you men always play it up as if it’s the end of the world”) and it was finally time for revenge.

            He had Lark fix him up a briar—rose—handkerchief, exaggerating a few sniffles. The handkerchief he then wrapped (with Sandry’s assistance) and placed in a box of Daja’s making. It was inscribed with, “For Rosie Rosie of the Red Nosie”.

            Briar hid behind the doorframe as she opened the mysterious gift left on her workshop stool. She read the box engraving. “Briar Moss, I will have your throat for this!” she screeched.

He ran from the building and signed to Tris, who called to some wind that prevented Rosethorn’s chase—not that she had much of a chase in her, given her incapacitated state of illness.

            She caught her breath after the quick jog and watched the boy disappear. When he stopped and turned, he was just able to see her at last shrug, glance at the handkerchief and blow her nose.

            He grinned. _It worked!_

            _Doesn’t mean she won’t slaughter you later_ , Daja answered; he could feel her grin.

            _Or me_ , Tris added. She shot him a bolt of magic. _So you better keep your deal about my chores for a week._

            _Lark just smiled at the handkerchief, too—so she really_ didn’t _know!_ Sandry was beaming through her magic. _Too bad she’ll probably catch it next._ Sandry cut out for a few seconds. _Or not. I just sneezed._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! C:


End file.
